


Caspar, Melchior, The Other One

by Sarcophagus



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Past Child Neglect, Sappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 05:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13117344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcophagus/pseuds/Sarcophagus
Summary: Vinnie's never had a real Christmas. Someone's going to set that right.Could be considered AU.





	Caspar, Melchior, The Other One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Apikale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apikale/gifts).



Time travelers got surprisingly little time to themselves. That's why they called it time travel and not time ownership, Vinnie figured. He'd been on Cavendish's case about going to the Googolplex mall for ages, but it wasn't until the week before Christmas that they finally got the opportunity.

"We might as well. I'm curious about holiday displays in this period," Cavendish said. Vinnie was mainly curious about the snack bars and didn't really care if the churros wore Santa hats, but he just nodded.

Exiting quantum space at the corner of the mall they got blasted by a wind that somehow got lost on its way to the Arctic. Vinnie hunched his shoulders and turned up the collar of his ratty old coat. Cavendish was wearing a muffler and didn't seem fazed by the cold. He pointed to a street vendor who was pouring brown lumps into a small paper bag for his customer.

"Look, Dakota, he's selling chestnuts! Roasted in a pan, the way we used to buy them for Christmas when I was a child. We'd eat them together at home. Takes you back, doesn't it?"

"Not really," Vinnie said.

"Oh, that's right, they went extinct before you were born. Pity."

"No, I meant we didn't do Christmas when I was a kid."

Cavendish glanced from the chestnut vendor to Vinnie. "Really? Why not?"

Vinnie didn't feel like explaining that it would have cut into his father's drinking time. He was sorry he'd said anything. "Too much of a hassle for just the two of us," he said casually, digging his hands deeper into his pockets and walking a little faster towards the mall's entrance. "Watch out for that ice patch, it's slippery."

"Yes, I can see that. Not even once?"

Vinnie pretended not to hear.

Of course he celebrated Christmas every year. It was a day off, wasn't it? A day for lounging in his underwear with snacks, drinks, movies and maybe a game or two. The trappings and trimmings and presents and yada yada might have been nice to experience as a kid, but hey. Not much chance of that after his mother took off.

He never knew where she went. His father told him not to mention that bitch again. Her picture was in his file, but no matter how many times he looked at it he couldn't remember her face.

This Christmas he wouldn't be on his own, though. He'd get donuts for two -- or cookies; donuts would get stale -- and a stack of pizzas, and they could sit in front of the TV and argue about what to watch. Yeah, that sounded like a plan.

With hindsight maybe they should have gone earlier in the year. The entire population of Danville and then some was milling around the mall. It reminded Vinnie of the Vandal migration of 406, though the decor back then had involved more swords and fewer luminous reindeer hanging from the ceiling. Crowds didn't bother him as such, but unlike Cavendish he couldn't look over their heads, which made it hard to see where he was going.

Cavendish joined a bathroom line. Vinnie drifted until he found himself near a music store. The crowd had thinned out. He stood in front of the store window, itching to go to town on the kettledrum. The displays of sheet music reminded him that Cavendish could read notes. Maybe he'd like a music book?

He went inside and flagged down a shop assistant. She looked at him strangely when he asked about classical music books and told him yes, they still had copies.

The book was perfect. A big anthology of classical music scores arranged for piano. It cost $34, which was $21 more than Vinnie had on him. He could hardly ask Cavendish to help pay for his own present. He'd just have to wait for the Christmas bonus.

/

On the morning of December 24th Mr. Block told them that in honor of the season they'd be cleaning Victorian privies that day. Since it was nowhere near December at the Bureau they wouldn't get any bonuses, though.

"You ever wonder if he's actually evil?" Vinnie said after the transmission ended.

"Chin up, Dakota," Cavendish said and strode towards the door. "Let's get it over with, shall we? Tomorrow's a holiday."

Vinnie was going to ask why he wasn't grumpier, but soon forgot about it once he buckled down to work. The Industrial Revolution didn't smell any sweeter than the Renaissance, and the air was a lot more polluted. When they got through with the assignment and returned to their apartment both of them were plenty cranky and tired, not to mention hankering for a hot shower.

Scrubbing off the Victorian gunk Vinnie tried not to think about what it consisted of. Instead he thought about the fact that without the bonus he couldn't afford Cavendish's present. He needed to find something cheaper in a hurry.

Cavendish was buttoning up his vest when Vinnie came out of the bathroom. All the things he wasn't already wearing had been laid out on the bed. His elaborate outfit took forever to put on. Vinnie would never not be grateful that he was the one who got the tracksuit.

"I'm going to the store," Cavendish said. "We're short on tea. They ran out of Pu Erh last week, I'll have to nip back ten days or so." He turned over his jacket and felt in his breast pocket. "By the way, the Christmas bonus came through. Here's yours."

Vinnie stared at the wad of bills. "But Mr. Block said he wasn't going to pay us."

"He was having us on. You know how he likes his little joke."

Suddenly things were looking up. Vinnie pocketed his unexpected windfall. "I want to go to the bakery. Let me have the temporal transporter when you're done, 'kay?"

"That's a waste of fuel," Cavendish objected. "We'd be making a round trip each. I'd better drop you off at the bakery and come back for you later."

Except Vinnie was going to the mall as well. He couldn't mention that now or Cavendish might smell a rat. The bakery was several blocks away from the mall. Not too far to walk in summer, but in December? His raincoat offered as much protection from the cold as a garbage bag.

"Can I borrow your sweater?"

"No, you may not." Cavendish yanked his cable-knit sweater out of Vinnie's reach. "What's the point? You couldn't possibly wear anything that fits me."

"Pretty sure I could wear your muffler," Vinnie said simply.

A short while later, or ten days earlier, Vinnie left the bakery wearing the thick woolen muffler and carrying a bag of cookies. Oatmeal and raisin for Cavendish, triple chocolate for himself. The weather was crisp but not windy, the sky was bright and the streets were sprinkled with snow. Vinnie sang as much of "Marshmallow World" as he could remember. He was starting to look forward to Christmas.

At the music store he got his book gift-wrapped by the same shop assistant who was going to help him find it in three days. After that he went to a sticker store and bought a sheet of gold stars to personalize the gift with. He asked himself if he ought to buy any Christmas doodads, like a tabletop tree or a can of fake snow, and answered himself, Nah. Cavendish had seemed to lose interest in the holiday after he saw the mall. Maybe Christmas in this period didn't jive with his childhood memories.

He tried to imagine Cavendish as a kid, running downstairs on Christmas morning to find his presents under a full-sized tree and unwrapping them while his parents waited for his reaction. The thought put a damper on his good mood. He distracted himself by sampling the cookies.

Cavendish picked him up outside the bakery. He had to hide the book in his jacket, which luckily was loose fit like all his clothes. Back at the office he slipped it under his desk, unnoticed. He was used to doing stuff behind Cavendish's back.

/

Vinnie went to bed early and was out like a light the moment his head touched the pillow. He woke up feeling well rested. Cavendish was asleep next to him, which ought to mean it wasn't time to get up yet. He raised his sleeping mask to check.

The first thing he saw was a bright star that wasn't there yesterday. He rubbed his eyes and realized the star was a tree topper. Sometime during the night a Christmas tree had appeared in their home.

Vinnie got out of bed and went around the screen that walled off the bed from the rest of the apartment. The tree glowed in the dark room. It had been draped with string lights and hung with ornaments and candy canes. It wasn't artificial, but an actual tree that smelled like pine. Back in the woods or wherever it may have been a runt, but in their tiny studio apartment it looked like the Hulk of conifers.

He switched on the lights. The wall clock said it was forty minutes past nine. Green garlands and holly wreaths ran around the room below the ceiling, and there was a red cloth and a vase with cut flowers on the kitchen table. No sign of any presents, though, under the tree or anywhere else.

Vinnie went back to the bed where Cavendish was still sleeping and shook him. Cavendish blinked puffily at him. "Izzere a fire?" He fumbled on his glasses and squinted at the clock. "Well, I never. What brought you out of bed before eight in the morning?"

"It's twenty to ten," Vinnie said. "See, when the little hand --"

Cavendish jumped up like an agitated stork. " _Ten?_ Good lord, why didn't you wake me up sooner? All right, all right, no need to panic. There's still time."

"Time for what?"

"Cooking the turkey, of course. I'll prepare it, you can do the stuffing."

Vinnie had a whole bunch of questions. He settled on one. "Can I go to the bathroom first?"

"Yes, all right, but be quick about it."

Vinnie was, but in those few minutes Cavendish had made the bed, got dressed and put on an apron. He tossed another to Vinnie and nudged him towards the kitchenette with a hand against the small of his back. "Chop the onions somewhere off to the side, will you?"

"What about breakfast?"

"Later."

Vinnie put on the apron over his pajamas. "You realize I haven't eaten anything for like, eleven hours straight? It's dangerous to go that long without food. I might chop off a finger."

"Oh no you don't. No raw meat in the stuffing," Cavendish said heartlessly. "We'll have anything you like as soon as this gets done." 

Cavendish didn't often write him blank checks like that. Vinnie decided to go along even if his stomach was growling. There was a recipe taped to the door of a kitchen cabinet. He got busy chopping onions and herbs and fat, shelled nuts that turned out to be chestnuts. He popped one in his mouth. It tasted like a nut that had been gene-spliced with a potato. He tried another one. Definitely some potato genes in there. Cavendish gave him a look, but didn't say anything.

When he'd mixed the stuffing he spooned it into the turkey. Cavendish trussed the legs together and connected them to the neck using vast amounts of twine.

"I think you're set," Vinnie said when the turkey was starting to look like a twine mummy. "It won't escape now."

Ignoring him, Cavendish stuck a meat thermometer in the bird, put the roasting pan in the oven and set the timer. He dusted off his hands in satisfaction. "I think we've earned a spot of breakfast, don't you?"

"Spot, as in anything I like?"

"Well," Cavendish said, "I thought you might like a traditional English breakfast."

The English tradition consisted of eggs, bacon, sausages, fried tomatoes, fried mushrooms and fried bread. Before today Vinnie'd assumed an English breakfast meant tea and toast. "Fthissis th'real deal, whyn't you ev' eat it?" he asked around a mouthful of eggs.

Cavendish broke off a bite-sized piece of toast. "Not everyone can eat 3,000 calories in one sitting, you know."

Shoveling down two kinds of fried pork, Vinnie had to admit he had a gift. 

After breakfast Cavendish roped him in to peel potatoes and then for some reason had him make two batches of eggnog, one with alcohol and one without. "You're expecting Santa and his elves?" Vinnie deadpanned, and was startled when he saw Cavendish's eyes flicker. He didn't push it. Let Cavendish keep secrets if he liked.

Trying to find space for his two jugs of eggnog in the fridge Vinnie took out a milk carton that was blocking the shelf. There was a small envelope stuck to the side of the carton that said 'Vinnie'. 

"Oh, hey," he said, "I got a letter from the fridge." Cavendish shot him a quick glance. "It's probably just junk mail," he added. Cavendish glared and Vinnie hid a grin. He opened the envelope. Inside there was a note and a puzzle piece that had been cut out of a photograph. The note said, 'Bed -- Head'. The puzzle piece showed part of a window. 

"Well?" Cavendish said after a moment. "Did the fridge have anything interesting to communicate?"

"Not sure," Vinnie said casually. "I think it insulted my hair."

Cavendish snorted. "Come off it. I know you know what a scavenger hunt is."

To be honest, the message wasn't that mysterious. Vinnie crossed the room to the bedroom area, snagging a candy cane off the tree as he went past. He thought for a second, then turned over his pillow. The next note was there, clipped to a second piece of the puzzle. Vinnie laid both pieces next to each other on his palm and looked at them closely.

Cavendish had come up behind him. "Read the clue first. You can't tell what you're looking at with just two --"

"It's the donut store downstairs," Vinnie said. "Look, you can see a corner of their menu through the window, and there's the back of one of those white plastic chairs. You think if I asked Sharice nicely she'd get chairs with upholstered seats?"

"Oh, well spotted." Cavendish sounded genuinely impressed. "But you might as well collect the rest of the pieces nonetheless. It's something to do before the store opens."

Vinnie hadn't yet asked himself what the puzzle was for. "Why would they open today? It's Christmas."

Cavendish turned up his palms. "Ask Sharice in, let me see, twenty-seven minutes."

Their office-cum-apartment might not be much, but Vinnie appreciated the location on top of a strip mall. Dry cleaners and a donut store, that was two basic needs taken care of. He'd never expected them to stay open on Christmas Day, though, and he wasn't wrong about that. Sharice explained that this was a one-off just for him, because he was their best customer. She waved away his thanks with a smile. "Got everything you need? Good, because I'm throwing you out now."

A little baffled but happy, Vinnie returned to the office with two boxes of Christmas-themed donuts. He set them on his desk, got down on all fours and fished out his gift for Cavendish from beneath the desk. It was past time to put it under the tree.

When he shook off the dustbunnies the sticker sheet, which he'd tucked under the ribbon, fluttered loose and landed on the floor. Just then someone knocked loudly on the front door. He stuffed the sticker sheet in his pocket. The rapping sounded again. He opened the door and did a double take. Santa was standing there: a small owl-eyed Santa with a burlap bag hanging off his walker.

"Merry Christmas! Ho ho ho! One side, boy."

Vinnie stepped aside, allowing Santa to lift his walker across the threshold. "Need any help with that bag?" he asked.

"I marched through Brittany in 1944 with eighty pounds on my back," Santa said in his cracked voice. "I can manage your gewgaws." He pushed on towards the apartment. Vinnie took point so he could open the door for him. "Hey, Cavendish!" he called. "Santa's here!"

Cavendish came over from the kitchenette. "About time! I mean, how nice. Would you like some eggnog?"

Santa dumped his burlap bag on the floor and looked suspiciously at the garlands under the ceiling. "Hmph," he said. "Okay."

Vinnie poured Santa and himself some eggnog of the adult variety. Santa downed his in one gulp. Vinnie wasn't sure, but he seemed to crack a smile behind the beard. "That hit the spot." He turned his walker around. "Well, I gotta get going. Got some lumps of coal to deliver to some tenants. You know who you are!" he yelled in the direction of the ventilation system.

Vinnie held the door open and waited politely until he'd left. Then he pounced on the bag. A box of chocolates, a present for him, one for Cavendish, a big one for him --

"Just stick the lot under the tree," Cavendish said. "We'll deal with them later. The turkey's almost done, but I've still got to roast these potatoes."

Remembering, Vinnie dashed back to the office to fetch his gift for Cavendish, shoved it in the bag and carted everything to the tree. He arranged the gifts so they'd look nice. One (for him) had been clumsily wrapped and the paper was torn right across. He could tell it contained a yellow shirt of some kind. Since the element of surprise was gone he unwrapped the gift all the way. It wasn't a shirt but a cashmere sweater. Vinnie tried it on at once. "Nice! If I spill eggnog on this it won't show."

Cavendish had taken the turkey out of the oven and was doing something to the potatoes. "I suppose so," he said absently. "Rosemary doesn't go well with paprika, does it?"

The last present at the bottom of the bag had been wrapped in plain brown paper and was labeled simply OPEN, so Vinnie opened that one too. He only had time to see it was a cardboard box with cartoon faces on the lid when the doorbell buzzed. A swathe of garlands fell down from the wall and several ornaments hit the floor.

"Must be Murphy," Cavendish said as he put the tray of potatoes in the oven. "Find out what he wants, will you, Dakota?"

Vinnie grabbed his glass of eggnog for safekeeping and went to answer the door. Sure enough it was Milo, with Zack and Melissa in tow. All three of them carried small bundles of paper. "Merry Christmas!" Milo said. "Is that a new sweater?"

"Yeah, it goes with the eggnog. What's up?"

Milo waved his sheaf of paper. "We're caroling! We go from house to house singing traditional Christmas songs, spreading seasonal joy and good cheer."

"Also we get paid," Melissa said.

"That's strictly voluntary," Milo explained. "People can make a small contribution if they like our singing."

"Or they just bribe us to leave." Zack thumbed his papers. "Anyway. We take requests."

"Cool!" Vinnie said. "You got 'Marshmallow World'?"

They did. All the words. Vinnie sang along, and nobody cared if his voice was a little rough from the eggnog. As they stood there on the landing, their breaths steaming in the cold air, Cavendish came to join them. He didn't sing, but he listened to "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" and "I Saw Three Ships" with his arm around Vinnie's waist.

"Thank you all," he said when the last carol ended. "Now let's go inside before we freeze to death. Would you care for some eggnog?"

"Absolutely. We'll take payment in kind," Milo said.

Cavendish led the way through the office. "I only wish we could have had an indoors fire," he said. "There's a festive touch if you ask me."

Vinnie sniffed. There seemed to be a touch of smoke in the air. "Is something burning?"

"Uh, Cavendish?" Zack said nervously. "I think you got your wish."

They hurried into the apartment. The kitchenette was visible from the front door and they all saw the smoke coming from the oven. Vinnie ran to the broom closet where they kept the fire blanket, but Milo was faster. He pulled a fire extinguisher from his backpack and sprayed the oven with foam until there was nothing left of the fire but the stench.

"Can I open a window?" Zack asked.

"Sure, go ahead," Milo said. "The fire's out."

"Nice job." Vinnie closed the oven door with his foot. "Your roast taters are toast, Cavendish."

Cavendish rubbed his forehead. "Never mind, we've still got the Brussels sprouts. But I can't think how that fire happened."

"Grease buildup, probably," Melissa said. "That oven's an older model. They can be real fire hazards if you don't clean them."

Vinnie had never heard of ovens that needed cleaning. He didn't think Cavendish had either, so of course he had to ask, pretending to be shocked. "You've never cleaned the oven?"

Cavendish frowned at him. "No, and neither have you. I'm not the maid."

Vinnie flashed back to their Halloween outing. "I seem to remember you wearing a --"

Zack, who'd drifted across to the tree, held up the cardboard box with the cartoon faces. "Hey, I know this game!" he said in a loud cheerful voice. "It's great! I've played it with my folks. Once my dad made me sing "I'm A Little Teapot" standing on my head. But I got even. I had him imitate three barnyard animals at the same time."

"Just so we're clear, this was part of the gameplay?" Melissa asked. Zack gave her half a thumbs up, acknowledging the mild burn.

Vinnie was interested. "You get to prank your opponents? I'm listening."

"Not exactly, more like humiliate them. Let me show you."

The game was called Hidden Talents. It wasn't like any game Vinnie had ever played. There was a board made of high-grade cardboard and a little plastic piece for each player. The players rolled dice and moved around the board to reach home base, but the meat of the game was the Goofball spaces. When a player landed on one of those they had to draw a Goofball Card and do whatever goofy thing the card said. To earn double bonus points they could turn down the card and let another player set them a task instead. It was an opportunity to let your imagination run wild.

Melissa did the splits while trying to balance an apple on her nose. Zack recited a passage from "Romeo and Juliet" in pig Latin. Vinnie played "Jingle Bells" on the xylophone with the mallet between his teeth. Cavendish acted out the story of Little Red Riding Hood in pantomime. Milo tried to knock over a paper mug by spitting water at it while Vinnie told jokes to make him laugh. Who, if anyone, was winning the game soon became a moot point.

"Sorry, guys, but it's time for us to go home," Milo said after his fourth failed attempt. "Can I have some paper towels?"

Vinnie found him a T-shirt that was oversized but dry. Cavendish handed out bags of mince pies and thanked the kids for coming. Milo was regretful. "It's too bad we have to leave so soon, but you know how it is. Gotta be on time for Christmas dinner."

"You can come back tomorrow and help us eat the leftovers," Vinnie suggested.

"If any," Cavendish muttered under his breath. "That turkey was the smallest one on the market."

The turkey looked fine to Vinnie when he helped Cavendish set the table. The rest of the spread was nothing to sneeze at either. They had appetizers, a salad, pigs in blankets, mince pies, the cookies from the bakery and a Christmas pudding with brandy butter. Vinnie took a picture of the whole setup with his phone. He sat where he could see the tree, Cavendish poured the wine and they tucked in.

They finished with coffee and a box of chocolates that was so upmarket it came with its own little manual. After that it was finally time to open the presents. Vinnie stacked them on the coffee table in front of the couch. There were three gifts left, since Vinnie was wearing one of his: two for Cavendish and one for himself. Except for the one Vinnie was giving they were anonymous.

Cavendish went first. He got a small object that looked like a miniature time displacement device, which would have been cool, but he said it was a state of the art tea infuser.

Vinnie unwrapped a rectangular box and shook out the contents. It was a suede trenchcoat with fur lining. When he slipped it on it was like getting a hug. He buttoned it and tied the belt. There wasn't a mirror anywhere near, but he felt several inches taller. He turned in place and ran his hands down the sides. "How's it looking? Good, right?"

"Well, of course," Cavendish said. "Quality never goes out of style."

The coat was already getting too warm for indoors. Reluctantly Vinnie took it off and looked at Cavendish. "I totally don't know who gave me this, but I'd like to thank them."

"Santa, obviously." Cavendish opened the final present, the music book. Vinnie waited to see how he liked it.

"Oh," he said quietly.

Vinnie didn't know what to make of that. "Was that a good oh, or bad?"

Cavendish opened the book. "This is Bach's Prelude and Fugue in B minor. I played it at my first school recital, with my father in the audience." He set down the book on the coffee table. "Thank you, Vinnie."

Vinnie toyed with the tea infuser, unsure what to say. Cavendish hardly ever called him Vinnie. "You're welcome," he offered. "So... wanna check what's on TV?"

He got first pick, probably because Cavendish didn't much care what they watched. He went for a Christmas movie that failed to hold his attention. There was a question he needed to ask.

Cavendish was half lying against the armrest, not looking exactly gripped by the movie either. Vinnie faced him. "Why would Santa do all this?"

"Well," Cavendish said slowly. "I suppose he felt he'd been neglectful. No Christmases at all. Can't have that."

Vinnie had a lump in his throat. He wanted to throw his arms around Cavendish, but if he did that he might start crying, and that was no way to say thank you. So instead he focused on the TV screen and let the flickering figures distract him.

After a while he shifted his weight. Something crackled in his pants pocket. It was the sheet of gold star stickers that he'd intended to decorate his present with. That made him think of the Christmas bonus that they'd paid out after all. A sudden suspicion came to him. "Did you --?"

He shut up. Cavendish lay slumped at his end of the couch, his head thrown back and his mouth partly open. His breathing was deep and regular. He clearly wasn't in any state to have a conversation.

Careful not to wake him up, Vinnie loosened his tie and collar and pulled off his shoes. He removed his glasses, slipped a pillow behind his head and covered him with the warm trenchcoat. Then he got out the sticker sheet and glued nine gold stars to Cavendish's forehead to form a smiley face.

Cavendish never stirred, not even when Vinnie took a picture using the flash. He must be exhausted. Even his mustache was drooping. Vinnie bent down and brushed Cavendish's cheek with his lips.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered.


End file.
